when hearts skip a beat
by currents
Summary: /he can feel her lips tilting upwards into a small smile and he decides that if love had a taste, it'd be the flavor of her lips. -RoseScorpius- for Amy. Enjoy!


This is for **Amy** (_Amy is Rockin_) because um, she is my bby & i love her? DUH. ;)

Er, I'm personally _not_ fond of this pairing, there are a select few amount of people I would write a Rose/Scorpius for, the darling **Yam** is one of them.

The characterization of Rose as a writer I totally took from Amy, because her canon is messing with my canon now, that bitch. Um, lol my characterization of Scorpius is a lot different from my normal one, mostly because i feel that different types of Scorpius would fall for Dominique, Rose, Lily, etc. Scorpius is basically a man-whore at first, because he feels like that's the only way a girl would have him due to his former Death eater father (yeah, in my RoseScor!Universe, Draco doesn't reform all that much), so it's the only way he could get a girl - not having to make them deal with his family. LOL sorry, okay, I'll just let you read it yourselves. :P I jut really hope he doesn't like become OOC halfway through lol. ;D Also, yes, I had to put the small amounts of Mollysander in there, to stop myself from suffocating over writing this pairing. DON'T JUDGE ME OK. ;)

I own nothing.

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><p>when hearts skip a beat<p>

/He can feel her lips tilting upwards into a small smile and he decides that if love had a taste, it'd be the flavor of her lips.

**HOGWARTS, SOMEWHERE IN SCOTLAND**

It all goes wrong (or maybe it was right; she was never good at remembering these things) on a Saturday. It's the last Hogsmeade weekend and they have so they have no legitimate reason not to be out with their peers, except half-hearted explanations of forgotten Charms homework and a lack of sleep the previous week. Especially as they're graduating in three weeks and this is the last chance for them to go as Hogwarts students, but honestly, they're _tired_.

The air is humid in that it's-almost-summer-but-not-quite-warm-and-way-too-wet kind of way and she's walking around the castle with sweaty palms and her shortest jean shorts she bought last year when she and Al's family had gone to America for the holidays. She's got her wavy auburn hair in a messy bun, feeling barefoot and free— all the lower years are studying for Exams and the upperclassmen are out at the Village so no rowdy cousins and annoying boys. She's well and truly alone for once and she never knew how _brilliant_ it feels.

He finds her in one of the Potions labs in the Dungeon (which is a bit odd, he thinks back, because she was right awful at Potions). She's rifling through one of the cabinets, arse up and head down, so he leans back to enjoy the view. She finally comes up, some obscure liquid in a thin glass bottle in her hands, sighing satisfactorily. She turns confidently, only to blanch at the sight of him. There's an arrogant (handsome) curve to his lips and a spark of lust in his grey eyes and she blushes brighter than the Fourth of July.

"Whatever," he drawls, "Could you be doing here, Weasley?"

"Nothing you'd care about, Malfoy," she retorts, blowing a stray red curl out of her face.

His smirk widens, impossibly enough, "Oh, I think you'll find that I find what you're doing, _very_ interesting."

She blinks at the innuendo in his voice, before glaring at him. She makes to walk out, brush past him without a parting glance or remark. After all, they're not friends, enemies, anything. In fact, they barely know each other. (But, as it ended up, that didn't matter. What did matter, no one noticed until it was almost too late.)

Scorpius grabs Rose's wrist as she passes him by, her bare thigh brushing against the front of his jeans. She turns to look at him, maybe demand an explanation or yell at him. Anything she might've said however, died on her lips as she was caught in his lust-filled stare.

His lips caught hers and it wasn't soft or sweet; it was rough and demanding and it made her want to scream, but since her lips were busy pressing as hard as they could against his, her scream was caught in her throat, painful and delightful. It was a bruising kiss that left her begging, panting, _craving_ for more. Maybe, if it hadn't been for the heat, it wouldn't have escalated to _skinonskin_ & _ohgodrightthere_ & _yesyesharderharder._

But, there a lot of maybes in life to taunt your conscience, like there are half-written stories you can't bear to finish and millions upon millions hopes and dreams that flutter in and out of mind, but never amount to anything (though they could have. they could've been _ANYTHING_). It's not good to dwell on what might've been, you know.

. . .

There's no doubt that it's summer now, the heat beating down on them in their finest graduation robes; sweltering, burning, blistering, _heat_. The Graduating Class of 20? stood on the stage one by one, accepting their diplomas and bidding their final goodbye to the institution that had been home to them for seven long years.

_It's been a good run_, she thinks, smiling absently at the flashing lights and a slight smirk tugging at her lips as the assorted family cheered. She pulled her hand lightly from Headmaster Thomas' wiry grip and Merlin, _is this what freedom feels like?_

She decides she adores it and is going to hold onto it for as long as possible this time. Gods, she hasn't felt like this since—

Well. There was no way that was going to happen again.

(She didn't know it then, but that would become the second biggest lie she ever told.)

James claims her in a hug first, pulling her squirming body against him and messing up her hair. He releases her into the arms of Albus, who chuckles at her muffled groans, and she was passed on along the line, until finally, she was in her father's arms as he went on about how he'd _always known she'd do great._

Her mother winks at her from over his shoulder and Rose feels very much at peace. That was until her father's body stiffens all over and she pulls herself out of his grasp, twisting to see the Malfoy's hovering awkwardly near their group, Scorpius and Albus talking as if they had no idea of the tension around them. _Typical_, she thinks, an amused lilt to her scowl.

For a fraction of a second, Scorpius' eyes flicker towards her and she gets that feel—

And you're fre—

Oh, god, the—

Well. There was no way that was ever going to happen again.

She turns her head, making sure he's not even slightly in her line of view, instead watching Molly fixing Lysander's crooked tie with a fond smile and him kissing her on the forehead. She frowns. (For no obvious reason, of course, she just likes frowning. Honest.) "Congrats, Weasley," comes a smooth voice behind her, and she turns for to meet his eyes which hold… _something_. (And she'd never admit it, but it kind of scared her.)

"Right. You too," she replies briskly, and that had supposed to have been the end of that. (If you hadn't already guessed, that wasn't exactly the case.)

. . .

**THE ESPRESSO ROOM, LONDON**

The coffee shop is small, but surprisingly popular. She comes here on her lunch break ever Tuesday and the monotony is surprisingly refreshing after the chaos that her life had been in Hogwarts. It's only a minutes' walk from her work, walking from High Stakes bookstore down Great Ormond Street and on the left, and its there.

She's waiting for her number to be called when he sneaks up behind her and whispers, "Boo!" in her ear. She jumps an inch in the air and he laughs.

He's giving her _that_ smile, the one he gave her that day before summer and they–

Anyways.

(There's currents running up and down her arms and she just doesn't get this at all.)

"So, what brings you here, Weasley?" he asks and she thinks absentmindedly that he'd make a real heartbreaker if he weren't so cocky.

"Getting coffee, obviously. I see Gryffindors really _don't_ have much between the years then," she retorts, her blush rising as fast as her temper and why is her heart beating this hard and gods, has his hair always been that blond?

(Well, shit. Was that supposed to happen?)

"Please, you wound me! I'll have you know, although I'm not Miss All-'O's-Ravenclaw like you are, I'm currently in Auror training," He's says and for a second he actually sounds proud or something, not just arrogant, "They don't just let anyone in there!" Then he ruins it.

She shakes her head ruefully, "I suppose not Malfoy." The silence is awkward for a moment until finally (_finally_) the man behind the counter calls her number.

She smiles at him apologetically, and she's somewhat confused on why she feels this… obligation, or something to stay. They'd only–

They'd only fu–

_They'd only_, she grimaced, _**fucked**__ once._

And that most certainly didn't mean she owed him anything. Anything at all.

Or at least, that's what she tried to convince herself, waving him goodbye and scalding her tongue with the hot coffee.

. . .

**HIGH STAKES BOOKSTORE, LONDON**

You'd never know it from the outside, but High Stakes Bookstore, was no ordinary bookshop. Aside from its rather odd entirely gambling theme, of course. No, but what really, made the bookshop… different… was the fact that it had an entirely different store right in the back of it. And what was even odder was that it was rather large and spacious and looked loads more refined than its Muggle front.

Rose sighs for the fifteenth time in the past hour of her morning shift, rearranging on her wooden stool to get more comfortable. She looks down at the watch that's almost falling apart on her wrist, checking the time yet again. _Hopefully_, she thinks, _Great Uncle Fabian's watch hasn't failed on me._

A customer makes her way towards her and she tries to appear like she cares about what the woman is nattering on about. She rings the woman up and bids her a good day without even looking up. She's about to take her seat again when a deep voice stops her and she's getting kind of sick of him always surprising her. (She's also pretty sick of the thrills that run up and down her arms at the sound of his voice, but she'll let it go for now.)

"Scorpius," She exclaims in (as per usual) surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"Why, do I need to check with you before leaving my house now, Weasley?" he asks with a smirk and oh god, they can't be flirting, they just can't be. He hands her a book which she glances at the title of interestedly.

"Didn't know you were a transfiguration buff, Malfoy," she says in what she hopes is uncaring, but comes out in a more outraged tone. He grins at her slightly, his teeth shining a blinding white in the bad fluorescent lighting.

"Yeah, my favorite subject," he drawls and it shouldn't interest her at all that they're exact opposites, but it does, it reallyreally does.

She's astounded. "But… it's awful!"

He laughs at her and she pouts and this is only friendly banter, nothing more.

"That's 'cause you're horrible at it," he points out (validly, but she still scowls).

She rings him up with a glare at his amused smirk and snaps at him a frosty, "Good day, Mr. Malfoy."

"It sure is," he laughs and she tries not to watch him leave.

(Tries being the operate word.)

. . .

**WEASLEY-GRANGER MANOR, OTTERY ST. CATCHPOLE**

Molly's hand has a bright gold ring on the finger when she arrives at the family dinner after months of avoiding them all. No one even seems to notice her at first, still busy slapping Lysander on the back and kissing Molly's cheek. She wants to push herself through the crowd and hug Molly tightly. She wants to ruffle Lysander's hair and then after congratulating them, off into a corner with Lily and Roxanne and make fun of everyone's outfits for the evenings. Before graduating Hogwarts, that's what she would've done, without a single thought or care.

But, it's different now, and she's already beginning to hate the noise in the house that makes her head pound and her eyes swim a bit. When he finds her, she's lurking in a corner, but it's alone and trying to massage away an on-coming headache.

"Stressed much, Weasley," he says, looking over her shoulder rather than directly at her. She barely flinches for once, which is truly a testament to how many times he's snuck up on her in the past.

"I wasn't 'til I got here, Malfoy," she groans out after a moment of just hoping he'd _GO AWAY_. She's really not in the mood to even attempt to pretend they have a relationship other than sex once and a couple of random conversations that left her stomach spinning.

"Oh, so what, _we_ make you stressed?"

"Yes, now leave me the fuck alone!" She hisses, getting up and moving to the punch bowl in search of a drink.

"What the fuck have we done? God, Weasley, you are so stuck up, you know…," He carries on ignoring her as she huffs at him following her. She takes a swig of her drink and decides that's enough alcohol to blame her next actions on.

"… and none of your other cousins are like this, you're the onl- MMPHHH!"

She draws back with a satisfied grin, rubbing the sweet taste of him off her lips, "You were saying?"

He stares at her for a moment, gobsmacked, before slowly, "You're good Weasley, I'll give you that."

She nods her head seriously, flashing him a wink and feeling so much more better, makes her way to Roxy with the tiniest of smirks on her face and completely unaware that every eye in the room is on her back and her father's made a lunge to tackle the frozen Scorpius only to be grabbed by her Uncle Harry. Roxanne greets her with a knowing smile and a laugh and she likes to think she was only happy because she had finally gotten one over on him.

. . .

**ROSE'S FLAT, LONDON**

She opens the door to see him knelt against the third floor railing of her apartment building, his hands tucked in his trouser pockets, and an awkward sort of smile on his lips. She's not exactly dressed at three in the morning, an oversized Slytherin jersey she stole from Al covering her necessaries and nothing else. He stares at her bare legs and she regards his generally disheveled appearance and the heavy bags under his eyes and turns abruptly and walks back into her flat, calling over her shoulder for him to make himself at home.

He shuffles in, his eyes flickering from her legs to the carpet in her tiny living room and sits down on one of the mismatched armchairs. She walks in briskly moments later, her wand tucked absentmindedly over her left ear and sets a tray with two cups of tea in one flowery mug and another with the catchy slogan of, "LIFE'S A BEACH". She grabs the beach one for herself and he wants to laugh at how typical it is for her to maneuver it so he has to drink from the girly mug.

She regards him as he sips slowly on his drink before setting her mug down with a slight _SLAM_.

"What do you want?" she demands, getting up and almost running over to him. She's practically draped over him and he pushes himself back uncomfortably against the armchair to put some space between them.

"I- I, I uh, wanted to see you," he mumbles uncharacteristically, but she doesn't budge, staring unrelentingly straight into his eyes that try to focus on not looking into hers or down the collar of her loose shirt.

"Why, would you want to see me, Scorpius?" she asks him softly, almost like it's a threat. He huffs, finally looking straight into her eyes.

"I can't get you out of my goddamn head that's why!" He shouts, standing straight up.

She jumps backwards, tripping over the coffee table in the process and when he tries to grab her to stop her from falling; they land in a muddled heap on the carpet. He's kneeling over her, breathing heavily and staring into her eyes and she decides to fuck it all and kiss him.

His lips are desperate against hers and they're tangling together trying to pull each other closer and closer and finally after one last bruising kiss she gasps into his ear, "Bedroom, bedroom!"

He picks her up, her legs straddling him easily and they clamber noisily to her bedroom, their lips locked together.

. . .

When she wakes up in the morning, his hands clutching at her waist and her right hand lightly rested on the base of his neck, she pushes her messy red curls from her face and laughs. He stirs a bit and when he finally cracks open one eye to grumpily regard her, she giggles and says, "We're going about this a bit backwards, you know."

He pushes himself up and pulls her into himself and plants a kiss into her hair and she decides it really doesn't matter anyways.

. . .

**MALFOY MANSION, DARBYSHIRE**

"We're not going in there."

"Oh, yes we are! C'mon, I came with you to tell your parents!" He doesn't add the fact that he'd suffered a black eye for his trouble, but that's not the point.

"That's not the same," she insists, crossing her arm in irritation. They're standing outside his parents' mansion (which really looks more like a castle if you ask her) and debating over whether she should come in with him. Which she is, she'd never leave him alone to the wolves, but _still_.

He looks at her with exasperation in his eyes. "How is that not the same?" he demands. He's more than a little hurt, maybe he should've expected this...

"It's just not!" She exclaims, throwing her hands up. She's practically bouncing up and down with nerves and oh Merlin, she can't do this, she can't do this!

She sighs then, looking at the vulnerability in his eyes, hiding her slight shock well, "Fine."

He regards her for a moment – anxious movements and sucking on a strand of her hair – before nodding briskly. He leans over and before she can protest, rings the doorbell. They can hear the old fashioned chime even through the heavy wooden doors and she begins to pray they're not home.

"No more secrets," Scorpius says just as the doors open to show a pale, but lovely face.

"Scorpius, where on earth have you been?"

. . .

She stares over Mrs. Malfoy's (who had insisted she call her Astoria, but it felt too _weird_) shoulder and tries to concentrate more on the lavish furnishings of the living room rather than fidgeting awkwardly on the fancy, but uncomfortable armchair she was seated in. She longs for Scorpius, who's currently in a _discussion_ with his father that she could hear through the kitchen doors. An enormous hourglass sits in the corner of the room, grains of sand falling through and for a few seconds she watches the pile grow almost a centimeter higher before Mrs. Malfoy speaks again, wincing as the voices in the other room grew another octave.

"So, what is it exactly you do?" she asks kindly.

Rose latches on to the subject gratefully. "I work at a bookstore. Part-time, until I can get it going with my writing."

"That's wonderful, dear," she says with finality, but more like she can't think of anything more to say rather than lack of interest.

They sit in silence again, until finally, Scorpius storms out of the kitchen, his father hot on his heels. "And don't come back until you've dumped that, that—," Mr. Malfoy breaks off, almost apoplectic with his rage.

"Hussy," Rose offers cheerfully, standing up and flashing Mrs. Malfoy an apologetic smile. Scorpius' face reddens even more and he grabs her by the arm, storming off and tugging her along.

"Bye," she calls back, waving her hand sardonically in farewell.

They're back on the doorstep, Scorpius trying to gather his bearings, his face still resembling a tomato.

"Thanks," He sighs, looking at her embarrassedly, almost apologetic even. Rose takes hold of his hand, twining her fingers through his with a soft smile.

"No need to thank me, remember? My dad punched you for Merlin's sake!" she insisted, and he smiled at her efforts, squeezing tightly on her hand and apparating them away/

. . .

**SEASIDE, SOUTHEND-ON-SEA**

"This is nice," he says and she nods in agreement, burrowing closer into his chest with a small smile. There are a million stars in the sky and when he looks up at them, lost in the feel of her soft body against his, he likes to think he could count them all. She brings one hand up to point and asks him lazily if he knows which one he is. He shakes his head in amusement, the vibrations of his body making her giggle. Rose looks up at him and he looks down at her, and suddenly all laziness is erased from their eyes.

He leans down slowly, kissing her languidly and he can feel her lips tilting upwards into a small smile and he decides that if love had a taste, it'd be the flavor of her lips. She pushes herself up to press herself more fully against him and he opens his mouth and she moans and this is road they've already taken; thin fingers gliding over previously mapped skin, used sweet nothings whispered into ears. It's all old, but it feels so new, and they decide they wouldn't mind doing this for the rest of their lives.

It isn't exactly a fixed decision in their mind, but it grows. It grows like weeds taking over a garden, unfettered, loose. (No, _this_ is what freedom feels like.)

He's pulling down the left strap of her pale blue dress, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses down her arms when he mutters into her skin that he loves her. She freezes, her eyes snapping open in surprise and they meet eyes and grin.

Rose falls to the ground, pulling Scorpius on top of her with a tug of her right hand and a light "Oomph!" She looks up at him and the way she smiles is better than any "I love you too," he could ever have gotten anyways.

. . .

**SCORPIUS AND ROSE'S HOUSE, ESSEX**

They move into a grand house that's close enough to spend weekends at the seaside, without being close enough to be tempted away during working days. The neighbors of 262 Kiln Road gossip merrily about the new arrivals and how young and in love they look, and how very expensive the wedding bands on their proper fingers look.

"Oh, they'll never last," Mrs. 264 could be heard crowing gleefully to the owner of the nearby newsagent.

She's laying in their grand king sized bed (paid for by her latest royalty check, thanks very much) and tapping unenthusiastically on her high-end new laptop (bought for her by Scorpius as a Congrats-On-Getting-Published-Babe! gift) when he finds her. She takes one look at him standing in the doorway of their bedroom, spatterings of ink covering him from head to toe and laughs.

"I told you that was going to happen one of these days," She practically cries out from in-between uproarious gales of laughter.

He scowls at her darkly. "That owl of yours is a bloody menace," he spits back at her through clenched teeth, before storming into their bathroom to change out of his soiled clothing. She giggles lightly some more for a few minutes, before sobering up with a small smile on her face. She closes the laptop that's slid haphazardly from her lap to a crease in the middle of the duvet she's swarmed herself in and slides out of the covers. She pads out of the room and to the second floor landing, taking the staircase steps by the twos. She finally makes it to the dining room, still a little cramped and cluttered, a huge tawny owl perched on the table and an empty ink bottle sitting innocently beside it. A rolled up letter ready to be sent off sat beside it as well with an elegant quill lying on the floor.

She tuts at the owl amusedly, going over to stroke it's feathers. "Bad boy, Mercutio, stop tormenting poor Scorp, it's much too easy!"

The tawny bristles its feathers for a few seconds and Rose shakes her head. Scorpius comes down just as she finishes attaching his letter to one of Mercutio's talons and glowers at the bird, wrapping an arm defensively around Rose's waist. A staring contest begins between the two males with rose giggling in between them. Finally, Scorpius looks away, burrowing his face into Rose's shoulder, making her shiver slightly as he mutters into her skin about her owl being Voldemort reincarnated and the tawny flies off, an almost smug air around it.

She pushes away from him, her eyes full of mirth, to meet his embarrassed grey ones.

"Er," he begins, scratching at the back of his head with a bashful smile. She groans exaggeratedly at him and walks into the kitchen to put the kettle on, hiding a smile. She loves him when they're alone; he's shy and unsure with her instead of the cocky exterior he shows everyone else. She remembers when he first began to mean something to her, that hot afternoon in the potions lab. She remembers his fierce kisses, the arrogant tilt of his lips, and the spark of lust in his eyes. She compares that to how he is now; quietly sarcastic, and a hint of hesitance on his face, like he doesn't understand how anyone could want to get that close. She thinks she liked him best both ways.

_Yeah_, she thinks, reaching up to pull some mugs from the cabinet, seeing him lurk shamefully in the corner of the medium-sized kitchen in the glass's reflection, _She loves him. She really, really does._

. . .

**FIN.**

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><p>Please, please, please, don't favorite without leaving me a review!<p>

(i hate that, seriously! :P I love the feedback, even if it's a flame or something ;) )

Always,

Summer


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